


Ghosts

by Calvi_sama



Series: Ghosts [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calvi_sama/pseuds/Calvi_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vincent is plagued by nightmares, but he never speaks of them.  What happens in his mind when he finally gives in and dares the embrace of sleep?  And why he fears it so...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

I’m pissed. I shouldn’t be; Cid is just being himself, but I am. He’d barged into my apartment, given me a dressing-down (for what, I don’t know, I wasn’t listening) then stormed out again. He’d slammed the door so hard that one of the cheap, pastoral paintings had fallen off the wall. I just left it. The pilot was prone to these outbursts, as frustrating as they are for me. I’d say that it was part of his charm, but I’m not so sure anymore as lately they have become…tedious. But, in about an hour he’ll come back and knock timidly on my door. I’ll answer it. He’ll call me “baby” and “honey”, eaten through with guilt and beg my forgiveness. And, fool that I am, will forgive him, and mean it. But in the interim I’ll pace my apartment, rubbing the bridge of my nose and wondering  _why_  in Ifrit’s  _hell_  I put up with him.   
  
I had hardly begun my pacing when there came a timid knock upon my door.  _Well that was quick_ , I thought as I turned towards the portal. Those words were on my tongue as I wrenched the door open in my fit of temper, fully intending to give Cid an idea of just  _what_  I thought of his tantrums. But instead of the pilot, I found myself punched in the gut by the ghost of my past.   
  
“Hello, Vincent,” she says quietly, that familiar little smile on her lips and tilt to her head.   
  
Like an idiot I just stand there, staring at her lips, her face. I’m gripping the door so hard that I’m denting the wood. I can hear it groaning under the pressure.   
  
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asks, smile faltering a little.   
  
_No._    
  
“Yes, of course, please forgive me,” I say instead, opening the door and stepping back.   
  
She enters and I shut the door behind her. I don’t turn around to face her, even when she clears her throat delicately. I’m numb. My brain refuses to work as I just stand there staring at the wood of the door. When she touches me I snap out of it, jumping as though Cid had shoved his spear up my ass. Slowly, I turn to face her, and it’s at that moment that all of the air in my lungs decides to leave in a hurry.   
  
She is beautiful, and  _just_  how I remembered her.   
  
You’d think, “How have you been?” would be the last ridiculous question you would ask at a time like this, opting instead for something a  _little_  more intelligent like, “What are you doing here?” or even better, “How the  _fuck_  did you get out of that crystal?” But no. Option ‘A’ finds its way out of my mouth, and I cringe inwardly. 

She laughs and the sound settles uncomfortably in my crotch, waking up that useless piece of flesh that got me into all this trouble in the first place. “I’m well, Vincent, thank you."   
  
_Say my name again...  
_

“How have  _you_  been? You look…different.”   
  
_No shit, baby. I’ve only been cut up, tied up, shocked, burned, raped, spliced with demons, injected with mako, enhanced – killed, and let’s not forget_ your  _little contribution to this twisted fuck-fest: teased, toyed-with, and my personal fave – time spent with Gaia’s worst roommate: Chaos. I’m swell!_    
  
“I’ve been good,” I mumble, not meeting her eyes.   
  
_Oh, you lying sack of shit, Valentine. You’d think that that little thirty-year nap you took in that coffin would put you in a better mood!_    
  
I think I’ve been listening to Chaos for a little too long. One would think that seeing your then-perceived, love of your life – and have the bitch  _smile_  at you – would be more fluffy bunnies and rainbows. I snort. One would think…   
  
“What are you doing here?” I ask, actually looking at her this time. I have to grit my teeth because my body seems to think that it sees something worth pursuing. Cheers to intelligent questions.   
  
“I-I wanted to see you,” she replies, looking away, and I’m disappointed for some reason.   
  
_Well, here I am, see me? Whoo-hoo, now get out._    
  
I’m silent though, only watching her and the emotions playing across that achingly beautiful face. I had taken off my cloak and mantle earlier in the evening and I’m kicking myself in the ass for having done so. I wished I had it on at the moment, as I’d love to hide behind that convenient collar right about now. Did I mention I’m a coward?   
  
When she looks back at me her eyes are all glassy and I wince inwardly again,  _Oh, no…_  “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Sorry for everything. I made a mistake; a horrible mistake, and you got hurt. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve it…”   
  
_You got_ that  _right. Now go, shoo, get out and leave me alone. You’ve done enough fucking damage; I don’t need this too._    
  
I nod, silent as always. Mister-Fucking-Eloquent.   
  
“Say something, Vincent, please!” she begs, and then the tears begin to drop.   
  
What the fuck? Why do women not fight fair? When the conversation goes south of their favor or they never get the desired response from the male, they turn on the waterworks and suddenly you feel like the world’s biggest  _ass_ hole? Oh, did I mention I’m an asshole too?   
  
Instead of doing the right thing and marching her pretty butt out the door, I come forward and wrap my arms around her, seeking to comfort her even as my soul dies a little more. “Don’t cry, Lucrecia. I cannot bear to see you cry.”   
  
_Liiiiaaarrrr. You want to break her just as she broke you, don’t you? You want her weeping in a corner, arms wrapped about her naked, beaten body and rocking herself. Just. Like. You. Did._    
  
She feels good in my arms. I won’t lie. I’ve lain awake nights,  _aching_  for just such a thing. Wondering how she would feel, would smell. As she wraps her arms about my waist I feel strong, like I can  _actually_  protect her. What a joke.   
  
I pull back and brush my thumb under a large brown eye, catching a tear and saying softly, “I’ve forgiven you. You did what you thought you had to do to save me. I thank you for that.”   
  
Oh, I’m going to hell for that lie, too, if I could die. I’m just full of it today.   
  
But her smile is worth it as I see it light up her face. Damn, but she’s beautiful. I’m suddenly gripped with the desire to kiss her, having wondered what that would feel like as well. Cupping that pixie-like face in my gloved hand, I slowly begin to lower my mouth to hers. She just stands there, looking up at me wonderingly. Finally our lips connect, and I swear my legs almost go out from under me. She’s so fucking  _soft_. With a tiny moan, I  _dare_ to deepen that kiss. And surprise, surprise, she responds. Her hands grip at the leather covering my back; fisting it as she clings to me, and the alpha-male in me demands I take her. Bend her over a chair and fuck her until she begs.   
  
Instead, I pull away; taking a little prideful note of the small sound of protest that comes from her throat. I ask, my voice husky and rough, “Do you have a place to stay?”   
  
_Oh no, Valentine, you know what they say about strays. You feed ‘em – or fuck ‘em – once and they won’t go away._  
  
She shakes her head, a fetching blush coloring her cheeks as she looks away.   
  
Hello Captain Erection. “Stay here. With me.”   
  
She looks back at me, a dim hope shining in her eyes, and abruptly I’m feeling smug when in fact I should be chastising myself. Tack on ‘manipulative jerk’ to that list will you?   
  
I take a small comfort in the fact that I am prepared to offer her my bed as I move to occupy the chair by the window. I sit down and prop my feet up on the sill, cross my arms over my chest and prepare to wait out the night. Only problem with that is I feel eyes on me in the dim light cast by the moon through the glass, and despite knowing where those eyes are coming from (or maybe it’s  _because_  of where they come from), it makes my skin crawl. I turn my head to look at her, sitting there on the bed. She looks lost, small, confused, and my heart goes out to her, as much as I don’t want to admit it. But it still doesn’t stop me from asking, perhaps a little more harshly than I should have because she cringes, “Are you all right?”   
  
“Will you…will you lay with me, Vincent? I’m cold, and I don’t want to be alone.”   
  
I roll my eyes.  _Welcome to my life, baby. Lemme get you another blanket and hug a fucking pillow. Who the hell came to sleep with me when the nightmare wouldn’t go away…oh wait, that was real life. Get over it._    
  
But dutifully, like the whipped male that I am, I get up and walk over to the bed. She scoots over and I lie down beside her, on my back with my arms folded across my belly. She sighs and snuggles close; one arm finding its way around my waist as she rests her head upon my chest. I stiffen, but she apparently doesn’t appear to notice. “I like laying here with you.” She sighs again and wriggles closer. I’m temped to open my pants and shirt just to see if she’ll fit in here with me. “I’ve made such horrible mistakes, Vincent. It should have been you, I see that now.”   
  
_It still can be…_    
  
“What was done, was done, Lucrecia. No matter how much we wish to change the past, we must learn to live with the consequences of decisions made. We are alive, that is all that is important,” I say softly, shutting my eyes as I inhale the sweet smell of her hair. Utterly consumed with the sight of her, the smell and sound of her…the  _feel_ of her, it is easy to ignore the fact that lying has become second nature to me. I’m  _not_  alive, and I continue to fight with accepting the fact that I’m no longer even completely human any more. I think perhaps  _hypocrite_ has earned a spot on that list as well.   
  
She pushes up on an elbow to look down at me. The room is dusky, but my eyes have never been daunted by shadows and darkness, seeing everything as though in daylight. “How could I have been so blind?” She runs the backs of fingers down my cheek, the tips of those same fingers over my lips. Damn, my pants are tight. “You are so very beautiful, gentle. Even after everything that was done to you, your poet’s soul survived.”   
  
_Oh, is that what it’s called then? I always thought it was a little something called “reality,” but hey if you want to live in a delusion, I’ll play along._    
  
Timidly, her hand wanders to the clasps on my shirt, and begins to slowly unfasten them. My breath hitches and holds as I capture her hand in mine, “Don’t,” is all I say, when in complete contradiction to all sane reason, my cock is screaming ‘fuck the shirt, rip it off and let me out.’   
  
“Please,” she murmurs softly, “Vincent, I want to see you.”   
  
_So what, is my face not enough for you? You have to see what is left of my body too? I tell you sugar, it’s a nice little quilt…would look great on a bed. Oh wait, it is on a bed…_    
  
Against all better judgment, I release her hand and place my arms by my sides. She hesitates a moment before resuming her little path of discovery, and with every pop of a button, or opening of a buckle, the throb of blood through my veins sends more traffic down to between my legs. Finally she parts my shirt to bare my chest to her gaze. I just watch her as she runs her eyes down my scarred torso, idly wondering what she is thinking. I can only hope its some serious regret, but then I’ve never been  _that_ lucky. The combination of cooler air and her scrutiny cause my nipples to harden and my breath to come a little faster. I try to fight my reaction to her, but it’s a lost cause as I’m so fucking hard right now I could pound nails with my dick. Then she does something that turns my impassive stare into one of stunned disbelief. She leans down and begins kissing my scars, one by one, beginning at my neck and collar bones, and ending at the jagged one disappearing into my locked down leather pants. But that doesn’t stop me from writhing a little and rocking my hips up slightly in an attempt to close the distance between her mouth and my cock. I can’t help it. I am a weak, weak man.   
  
When her hand moves to the two belts that fasten my pants, I actually feel a moment of fear. The poor woman has no idea what it is that she’s playing with, teasing…waking up. The irony of this has not escaped me, just been pushed back in my brain, as the priority list of ‘gimme’s’ has just been dramatically reshuffled. I grab her hand and firmly take it away from my groin. “No.”   
  
She looks at me, and I cannot read her expression for once. This worries me, and I do not know why.   
  
“Why?” she asks in unconscious echo of my thoughts.   
  
_Because that is a can of worms you do_ not _want to open, Dr. Crescent…_    
  
”I do not want to hurt you.” I breathe while my brain snickers at my hollow attempts at chivalry, and my cock is calling me both a liar and a coward. It’s funny how those two little related words keep coming up, isn’t it?   
  
She smiles softly at me, complete and utter trust shining in her eyes, “You won’t.”   
  
I grit my teeth and silently curse…because I know she’s right, the bitch. No matter how much I _want_  to hurt her, and think up so many creative ways to do it, I know that I could  _never_  actually follow through. I  _am_  a failure…in so very many ways. “Lucrecia, I cannot. It is not right.”   
  
_Why the fuck not? This is the perfect opportunity for a little payback: bone the wife of the man who destroyed your life, your future…so what if he’s dead…_    
  
It’s at this moment my thoughts turn to Cid, as I lay there with my shirt open, and with a hard-on from hell. I would be betraying him, his trust and friendship, but when  _she_ kisses  _me_ , replete with tongue action, my brain resets and I forget about everything but my desire to be inside of this woman, to have her legs wrapped around my waist and fuck her so hard the headboard knocks a hole in the wall. “I can’t…” I whisper hoarsely when she pulls away, in a last ditch, pathetic attempt to see if she’ll  _actually_ listen to me this time, while the little Turk between my legs is singing ‘Oh, I think you can…’   
  
“Yes, you can,” she murmurs, hovering over my mouth and I’m convinced that she can actually hear the little bastard. “I want you to.”   
  
And the walls of resistance come tumbling down, as I’m given the biggest green light a man could get.  _I’m sorry, Cid,_ I think with the last remaining bit of my humanity, which then promptly gets swallowed by the beast. With a growl, I roll us over, covering her with my larger frame. She barely has time to get her arms around me before I’m kissing her. I’m ferocious, violent, desperate…worshipful as I devour her mouth. I’m demanding as I force her lips open with my tongue, even as I’m infinitely gentle in caressing her face. She gives a soft sigh as she relaxes underneath me, which in turn causes me to ease back on my fervor. When we separate, our breathing is identical in it’s panting.   
  
I want to touch her, feel the texture of her skin against mine, so using my teeth I pull off the glove covering my right hand. I bring it up to cup her face, and marvel at how warm and soft she is…so  _alive_. I’m lost in her face, her lips, her eyes and I lean down and gently feather a kiss over each eye and she giggles.   
  
I forget my hate. I forget my need for some kind of revenge. I forget my desire to inflict pain. There is only this woman and my irrational and undying love for her. She could use me as a doormat, and I would still kill for her. To have her embrace me as a lover, and have her rely upon me as a mate…such a gift I could never be worthy of.   
  
_I hate you. I hate you with every breath in my body. You have made me a slave and I love you for it. Kill me with your love, Lucrecia, and damn my soul for eternity._    
  
I prop myself up on my arms and gaze down at her, “Open your blouse for me,” I demand, and she hastens to comply. Blushing, she slowly parts the delicate material and waits. “Unbind your breasts.” I stare eagerly as the soft, pale mounds are revealed to me. Moaning, I lower my mouth to take in one rosy nipple, rolling it over with my tongue and nipping the tender flesh of the underside of her breast. She gasps my name and her hands find their way into my hair, digging deep and fisting there.   
  
As I suckle at first one breast and then the other, my hand finds its way unerringly to the button that fastens her skirt. It is no challenge to pop it open and slide my hand down until I reach her feminine core. Parting the delicate lips I ease two fingers into her heat and groan. She is already so very wet. I am suddenly gripped with the furious desire to know what she tastes like. I pull away from her breasts and she gasps, her hands coming up to cover herself.   
  
I have to grin.  _Oh, but I’ve already seen you, my darling. There is nothing for you to hide from me now. And very soon I shall see all of you._    
  
I am a little rough as I yank the fabric of her skirt down over her hips, thighs and instruct her kick the garment off. I can smell fear coming from her, but also excitement as she does as she is told. “Spread your legs,” I growl, as the beast in me grows more aroused. Her blush deepens and it looks as though she might say something, but again, she does as she has been instructed. I lower myself again and begin kissing my way down her belly while the fingers of my right hand stroke lightly over the slightly parted lips of her core. She is visibly shaking now, not with the cold as was her complaint of earlier, but of desire, and her legs fall ever wider apart. The blood pumps strongly through her veins, flushing her skin with lust. I know, because I can smell it. Like the sharp scents of her emotions, her very blood calls to me as I continue to lave her flesh with my tongue.   
  
I come to the downy-soft hair at the juncture of her thighs and I nuzzle it before finally,  _finally_  achieving my goal. I part her lips with my fingers and quickly flick the tip of my tongue over her clit, growling in approval as she arches her back and gives a small cry. I then seal my lips to hers, thrusting my tongue as deep as I can get it. Her taste is not how I had imagined it at all. It’s far, far  _better_. Her cries grow louder as I lick and suckle, nip and rub until she finally orgasms, reaching down to once again bury her fingers in my hair as she writhes against my mouth. I suck on her clit, teasing it with my tongue as she shudders in blissful aftershocks. My curiosity is assuaged for now; my lust, however is not.   
  
I crawl back up her body, lithesome and reptilian as I pin her in place with my red stare. Our mouths come together roughly, all teeth and tongues, grace and elegance gone. She whimpers and fumbles with the clasps on my leather pants and I pull away from her mouth with a hiss, “Are you sure this is what you really want, Lucrecia?”   
  
_Please say no, please say no, please say no…_    
  
“Yes!” She gasps, grinding her pelvis up into mine, and I drop my forehead down onto her shoulder with a groan.   
  
_Damn you…damn me…_    
  
I look into her glazed brown eyes a moment before raising myself up onto my knees and slowly unclasping my pants. She watches every movement hungrily and I feel my own begin to rise in answer. Gauntleted hand hanging uselessly by my side, I free my cock with my right hand, stroking its thick length while I watch her watch me. She shivers and spreads her legs as far apart as she can, and I stare at her core, transfixed and starving.   
  
_Delicate and perfect…succubus._    
  
“I want you, Vincent,” she moans, “I’ve always wanted you, but I was too scared to tell you.”   
  
I blink, startled as I realized that I had completely tuned out,  _Typical_ , I think wryly.   
  
“Do you,” I breathe, and once again amaze myself with my verbal alacrity.   
  
“Please,” she begs, “make love to me.”   
  
I hesitate a moment as a brief flash of disgust momentarily clears the sexual fog that was my brain. I could never abide pleading, even when Hojo had had a hold of me, I never once…begged. But is my disgust really with her, or at my own weakness? Whichever it may be it ceases to matter as I lower myself back down onto her body. Resting upon my left forearm, I use my right hand to grasp my cock and position it at her core. I then brace myself against both arms as with my hips I ease slowly into the delicious, tight heat of her body.   
  
“Lucrecia,” I moan helplessly as she sheathes me until our pelvises are resting together; joined in the carnal way meant solely for man and woman.   
  
“You feel so good, Vincent,” she murmurs, as her arms go about my torso, “just as I dreamt you would be.”   
  
_You have dreamt of me? To which nightmare do I belong, my love?_    
  
I begin to move inside her then; slow, undulating thrusts that rock her forward and back on the mattress, and I am consumed once again with a feeling of dominance and power. I bury my face in her sweet-smelling neck as her nails dig into my back, making me growl at the sharp, pinpoints of pain. Our breathing quickens in unison as my movements begin to speed up, but something is not right. I want to  _see_  her, watch her face as she comes. I want to watch those beautiful, wide brown eyes roll back in her head, her mouth fall open as she cries out my name; to feel the satisfaction that it was  _I,_  and not another, that made her feel these things.   
  
So I slide my arm under her arched back and with a mighty heave I rolled us over so that she is astride my hips. She looks down at me, startled, and I gasp, “Ride me, Lucrecia, and let me look upon you.”   
  
She is as exquisite and fine as any goddess as she bites her lip and begins to mount me. I find that I cannot look away from where our bodies are joined; my thick shaft glistening with the honey from her body as she takes me in and releases me in a steady rhythm, with my hand gripping her hip. My attention is brought back to her face when she braces one delicate hand upon my chest and I see her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. The hand holding her waist moves up and tenderly cups her cheek, and I experience a queer tightening in my chest as she turns her face into the contact, her free hand coming up to cover my own.   
  
_I love you, Lucrecia._    
  
Why I cannot say those few, precious words I do not know, nor, I think, will I ever. She begins to twist her hips, and the motion and pressure causes me to moan, and my hand to fall from her face. She lets it go. It’s funny, I think somewhere in my brain, that it’s  _my_  eyes that fall shut and  _my_  mouth that drops open as I cry out softly, “Lucrecia”, and somewhere I distantly hear her whisper in heartbreak and passion, “ _Vincent_.”   
  
Something is wrong. The pressure around my cock has grown dry and tight, the movement rough and uncoordinated, primitive and crude. Startled, I open my eyes and my breath stops in horrified shock. It was not Lucrecia upon my dick, but  _Hojo_. The madman’s cold, piercing eyes bore into my own; his thin lips are lifted in a grotesque sneer.   
  
_What. The. Fuck._    
  
I blink rapidly and try and bring up my gauntlet, intent upon ripping out the creature’s heart, but I cannot move! My arms are frozen by my sides, and I am forced to watch, helplessly as my creator, my personal nightmare fucked me. “No!” I growl as I grit my teeth against the pleasure my body is continuing to receive. “Stop it.” He doesn’t listen. “Get off of me!” But Hojo continues to grind his skinny, frail body atop mine, his own thin, curved erection bobbing with each jerky movement.   
  
And then he speaks, “I’m proud of you, boy! You finally got up enough courage to fuck her!” Then he laughs, that horrid, cackling laugh that always reminded me of fingernails on a chalkboard, and that even now continues to drive steel spikes through my brain via the enhanced hearing that he gave me.   
  
It was then that I notice her, standing by the bed with tears running down her red cheeks, her arms behind her back. My mouth works, trying for words, but the only sound that comes forth is a moan as Hojo begins to speed up. The shame consumes me, burns up my soul to leave me empty.  _Why_ doesn’t she help me?  _Why_  does she continue to stand there while I am raped? But isn’t that how it’s always been? And even now I cannot hate her. How  _can_  I when she is just as trapped as I? Even more so? I lost my life, she gave me another, and in the end she lost everything: her future, her mind…her child. My suffering is  _nothing_  compared to that.   
  
Again I try to speak to her, but I cannot form words. Instead, Hojo says, “Ah yes, my dear. Won’t you be so kind as to hand me a knife? I have some work to do.”   
  
My eyes widen in terror as they flick back and forth between Hojo and Lucrecia.  _What are you talking about?_ My mind shouts. And I see her arm come out from behind her body. She is clutching a large, serrated knife. It is an instrument that my body and I know well. It is an instrument from my past. She looks over and our eyes lock.   
  
_Please, my love, for once do the right thing! Free me!_    
  
She hesitates, and for a moment I think she might do just that, judging from the way she is holding the knife. But in the end, her shoulders slump in defeat, and she listlessly hands over the blade to the man who controls us both. But Hojo is not finished with me, and I let loose a panting groan as I near my own orgasm. I want to weep, to scream, to  _kill_  something, but I continue to be held immobile, a prisoner of my own pleasure, and I refuse to let Hojo see my weakness.   
  
_Kill me…_    
  
Then there is a knock on my door and my head jerks over toward it, but before I can cry out, Cid walks in, mouth first as he usually does. “Vince, look I…” He freezes, and those beautiful blue eyes widen as he sees me lying half naked on my bed, providing pleasure to Hojo against my will while the woman I love watches. The pain of betrayal that I see upon his expressive face is the hardest thing I have  _ever_  been forced to endure.   
  
_Run, Cid! Get away, it’s not safe!_    
  
“Vincent…” Cid whispers, shaking his head and taking a step toward me. I try and reach out him, my fingers straining from where my arm lies trapped next to my body, but I cannot reach him.   
  
_Oh my friend, I’m so sorry…do you see why I am not worth your love?_    
  
Another twist of Hojo’s hips causes me to moan, and to begin thrusting my own as I near my release. My eyes do not waver from Cid’s however as I  _try_  to tell him I’m sorry, my mouth working but nothing coming forth. Suddenly there is the loud crack of a gunshot, and I see Cid’s eyes widen in shock as he looks down at his chest where a bright bloom of blood begins to spread outward from its center. He looks back up at me, confusion written in heartbreaking clarity upon his face just as I come; arching my back and crying out, before he sinks to the ground to move no more, as blood slowly begins to spread out from his body like dozens of seeking fingers. And it is  _then_  that my vocal chords are released and I call out even as I pant, “Cid!” I look up and see Lucrecia holding my smoking gun, which she lowers, her lovely face twisted into a hateful mask, just as Hojo begins his maniacal laughter once again.   
  
_You fucking bitch, I_ will _kill you._    
  
“Why?” I ask, my voice coming as close to a plea as I will  _ever_  allow it to get.   
  
She smiles sweetly as she steps over Cid’s corpse, “Don’t you see, Vincent? You belong to us.” She comes up to the bed and tenderly touches my face, and I find myself unable to pull away, “No matter where you go, or whom you are with, you will  _always_  come back to us.”   
  
“That’s right,  _boy,”_  Hojo sneers as he lifts himself off of my spent dick to continue kneeling over my waist. “I created you! I can do with you what I want! Did you  _honestly_  believe you could ever escape me?”   
  
“You’re dead!” I say desperately. “I saw you cease to exist! You conscience erased, your body destroyed!”   
  
“Oh far from it,  _Valentine_!” Hojo cackles, “As long as you exist, I will  _never_  die!”   
  
I struggle to breathe as I turn to look at Lucrecia, a tear finding its way out of the corner of my eye, and I am grateful that Hojo cannot see it as it belongs only to her. “ _Why?_ ” I choke. “ _Lucrecia…_ ”   
  
She reaches forward, and places her elegant hand over my mouth and, eyes shining with tears of her own, whispers, “He owns us both, my beloved.” Then her fingers caress my cheek and she breathes, “I love you, Vincent.” And she turns away; one hand over her mouth as she begins to sob just as there is a searing pain in my chest. With wide, terrified eyes my head jerks around to see the hilt of the knife beginning to saw down my torso even as my vision begins to dim.   
  
“I’m so sorry.”   
  
~   
  
“ _Vincent!_ ”   
  
I jerk awake, screaming and struggling within the strong embrace of familiar arms. Panting, I cannot still my racing thoughts, and continue to struggle until I am released. Sitting up, I begin to rub my chest even as I begin to tremble.   
  
“Vincent?” There is a bulky shadow next to me, and I look over to see Cid’s concerned face.   
  
_You’re alive? Gods, you’re alive!_    
  
“Cid?” My voice is shaking and fragile as I lunge upon him, my arms going around him to nearly crush his body with the ferocity of my embrace.   
  
“Whoa! Easy there, Vince!” Cid catches me, and begins stroking my naked back.  “This was a bad one, huh?”   
  
_You have no idea, Highwind_ …   
  
But, as usual I am silent as I cling to him in my frailty. Cid lies back down and I move to straddle his waist as I begin to inspect his chest, convinced that I might yet find a wound. He captures my hands and brings them to his lips before he says soberly, “I wish y’d tell me ‘bout ‘em, Vincent. Why wont’cha?”   
  
_Because I don’t want you exposed to that evil, Cid._    
  
Instead of answering him though, I lean forward and kiss those familiar lips, parting mine to delve deeply with my tongue. He tastes of cigarettes and alcohol, so very different from  _her_. He is uneasy, but he doesn’t turn me away. My movements become needy and desperate, and it doesn’t take long before Cid answers my request as I roll over to position myself upon my hands and knees. I spread my legs and drop my back, and as I see him going for the lube I bark, “No! Do it. Just like this.”   
  
“But Vincent, I don’ wanna…”   
  
“Do it!” I growl as I brace for his entry, and the inevitable pain that will accompany it.   
  
I’m always like this after one of my nightmares, and Cid hates it. I know he does, but he doesn’t understand that I  _need_  this pain. I need it to prove that I exist  _now_ , and that I am not stuck in some vicious loop of memories while trapped under a knife. I gasp and cry out as Cid pushes his cock into my ass, the pain burning and sharp. There is no pleasure, and that is just how I want it. There had been pleasure within my dream, within a nightmare world that was not real. Now there is only pain, and a world that  _is_  real. I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw as Cid releases deep inside of me, and as the pilot withdraws from my body and falls back onto the bed, I remain on my hands and knees, shuddering and with my eyes squeezed tightly shut. I do not come, and before I can stop it, I sob…but only once, as I cannot reveal my weakness even to Cid, the one person I  _can_ trust in this ruined world.   
  
The pain is easier for me to accept. It is who I am; it is what I have become. It is all that I know now. It is the pleasure that is the illusion. For a creature like me, pleasure does not exist. And as I rest there, on my hands and knees, frozen and feeling Cid’s body fluids trickle down the insides of my thighs, my shame burns me anew and I  _wish_  that I was strong enough to run away.   
  
Cid has to coax me back to lying by his side, gently pulling my stiff and aching body over until I give in, and he is once again pressed up against my back. It hurts him to do this to me, and I am deeply sorry; then again, my life has been constructed out of regrets, what is one more? I feel one of his forearms slide under the pillow that cradles my foggy head while the other one wraps around my waist, with his open palm resting over my wildly pounding heart. He leans in close to rest his head on the pillow so his nose is buried in my tangled hair. It is his favorite position, and I would be lying if I said that I did not find comfort in it as well.   
  
But wait, I’m a liar too, aren’t I?   
  
“Why don’t’cha trust me, Valentine?” Cid murmurs sleepily as his arm tightens around me.   
  
_Because I don’t deserve it…_    
  
“Ah fuck, ya ain’t gonna’ answer me are ya.” Cid says then whispers into my ear, “I love ya, Vincent. Jus’ thought’cha ought’a know that, that ya  _need_ t' know that.”   
  
My breathing is still shaky, and I don’t answer him, I don’t even think of it. I am afraid to, and I dare not because  _they_  might hear me and hurt him, and that would utterly destroy me. They are always there, behind my eyes and within my mind. They are right, I cannot escape them, and even now in this time that should be mine and mine alone, the ghosts are listening. 

 

~Fin~


End file.
